A Trouble Shared
by JantoJones
Summary: Illya has to decide whether to leave the field permanently.


**This is the follow-up to 'A Hard Lesson' and 'Worry'. Please read those first.**

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Two weeks had passed since Illya's ordeal in the THRUSH torture class. Despite being passed as medically fit, he still hadn't ventured out of HQ, other than to go home. Napoleon had told him that Mr Waverly was giving him four weeks to decide whether he wanted to leave the field permanently or not. Illya had no wish to leave the field and the thought of losing his partnership with Napoleon scared him more than he thought possible. It was because of this that Illya took himself to a place he usually avoided. He knocked on the psychiatrist's door and entered.

Dr Francis was reading the case file from Illya's rescue and, in spite of the horrific details, he had still been surprised when the agent requested to see him. He stood up from his desk and invited him to sit in one of the two comfortable chairs in the office.

"Thank you for seeing me," Illya said, as he sat down.

"Thank you for coming to me Illya," Dr Francis replied. "Please don't worry about any time constraints as I've cleared by schedule for you."

"That suggests you think I have a lot to say."

"I've had sessions with you before," the doctor told him, with a slight smile. "You may not say a lot, but it can take you a while to say it."

Illya returned the smile. "I don't know how to start. I'm not usually one for talking about myself."

"Okay, then let me start," Dr Francis retrieved the file from the desk and opened it to the page detailing Illya's version of events. "You were tortured recently, and you say here that there was 'no mission motive'. What did you mean by that?"

Illya closed his eyes and took a deep breath. This was going to be harder than he'd imagined. Talking things out was something he usually did after a good drinking session with Napoleon. Doing it stone cold sober was terrifying. He had to fight with himself just to stay seated, let alone in the office.

"They didn't want information," he finally disclosed. "I was simply a demonstration tool for a sadistic teacher. During other torture sessions, the need to retain whatever information I have, gives me the willpower to endure. This time there was nothing to fight for."

"Are you saying that you had no hope?"

"I had hope," Illya countered. "I knew that Napoleon would mount, or at least arrange, a rescue. I also knew I would be dead before it arrived."

"I see," the doctor muttered, as he twisted his pen around in his hands. "You had already decided you were dead, so the fact that you aren't, has left you feeling confused."

Illya thought about that for a moment. That idea hadn't occurred to him, but it made sense. His mind kept telling him that he must have died, but his body hadn't caught on to that fact yet. If he could just persuade his mind that he was alive and well, he could maybe get on with his job.

"I've kept myself out of the field for two weeks. I have to decide which direction my future lies."

"The Illya Kuryakin I know would be itching to get back out."

"So would the one I know," Illya agreed.

"You're afraid." Dr Francis stated, bluntly and to the point.

Anger flared within Illya. He wasn't angry at the doctor, but at himself. He was Illya Nikovitch Kuryakin. He'd survived the last war despite losing his family and home. He had left Russia to make a life in Europe, on his own before coming to America. He had made a home and friends in the land of his supposed enemies. He was acquainted with fear.

"Yes, I'm afraid," Illya yelled. "Fear is always with me, but I've never let it defeat me before."

By this point, the Russian was on his feet and pacing. Dr Francis let him get on. The walls were sound-proofed, so patients were free to express themselves in whatever way they needed. However, this was the first time he'd seen Kuryakin getting animated, and saw it as a good sign. The man usually held back, only telling the doctor what he thought he needed to hear.

"Is there anything else going on which could be stopping you from moving on Illya?"

Kuryakin paced for a little longer then suddenly stopped.

"This may sound stupid, but this one fear seems to have let loose a host of others."

"Tell me about them."

Illya sat down again, but perched himself right on the edge of the chair.

"As Number two, Section two, one of my duties is to keep Napoleon safe. Not just as my partner, but as the CEA. What if I make a mistake and he gets killed? Also, my skills as an explosives expert are good, but what happens on the day the bomb maker is more skilled than I? Will the day come when the CIA finally decide they've had enough of the 'Damn Commie' swanning around their country? Will the KGB decide that it's time for me to go back to Russia? Will Mr Waverly decide that I am no longer required and send me back?"

"When it rains, it pours," the doctor said, when the agent's outpouring stopped.

"Is that anything like 'Beda nikogda ne prikhodit odna'?"

"I'm sorry, my Russian is lacking."

"It means 'trouble never comes alone'," Illya translated.

"That's pretty much it," Dr Francis confirmed. "Illya, have you spoken to Napoleon about any of these fears?"

"Only the CIA and KGB ones."

"With your permission, I'd like to invite him into this session. I think you would both benefit from it."

Illya's first instinct was to say no. After a little thought, he decided it could be a good idea. There were few people he trusted in this world, and his partner was one of them. He'd noticed that Napoleon had been very careful around him recently. Their usual banter and acerbic barbs had diminished, and Illya missed it.

"I think you could be right doctor."

Napoleon immediately dropped everything when Dr Francis called him. He never thought he'd see the day when Illya Kuryakin saw a psychiatrist of his own volition. That fact alone gave him a deep sense of foreboding. Was he about to lose his partner? He'd had many partners before Illya, but none of them took to his way of doing things. Even though he and Illya had very different methods, they fit together like puzzle pieces. Napoleon knew the partnership would be broken the day Mr Waverly joined the choir invisible, but he'd been relying on Illya being by his side until then.

Arriving at the doctor's office, Napoleon paused outside to compose himself. It wouldn't do to expose his own fears. Upon entering, he was greeted by Dr Francis, but Illya said nothing; he merely offered a half-hearted smile.

"Thank you for agreeing to join this session Napoleon," the doctor said, as he offered him the other comfy chair while he pulled his desk chair around. "Illya has given me leave to tell you what we have been discussing."

Solo looked to Kuryakin and raised an eyebrow in question. Illya replied by raising both eyebrows in a look of 'sorry I dragged you into all this'. Napoleon listened patiently, though with increasing disquiet, as Dr Francis told him of Illya's worries.

"First off Illya, you're my partner, not my bodyguard," Napoleon stated, when the doctor had finished.

"You're also the CEA," Illya answered, matter-of-factly. "It is the duty of every agent to protect you."

"I don't know if you're aware of this Tovarisch," Solo stage-whispered. "But, you're next in command after me."

He continued in his normal voice. "For all I joke about being senior, I see us as equal. As partner's we protect each other. I failed to do that two weeks ago."

Illya suddenly realised that Napoleon was also having a hard time dealing with what had happened. He'd been aware of Solo's efforts not to cause him any distress, but he'd been too busy feeling sorry for himself to notice Napoleon's upset.

"The mission came first," he assured the American. "As it always should. How many THRUSH operations were scuppered as a result?"

"Four. Thousands of lives would have been lost."

"Then my ordeal did mean something," Illya mumbled, almost to himself. "My capture meant that you could get the informant away."

Dr Francis smiled inwardly. He'd always been amazed at Kuryakin's psychological tolerance of THRUSH's more physical persuasions; learning early that the man could withstand almost anything, so long as there was a purpose. The torture may not have saved all those people directly, but the events which led to it, had done. That would be enough to settle the Russian's thoughts on the matter.

"As for the rest of your fears," Napoleon continued, deciding that getting maudlin would serve neither of them. "The only reason Waverly would send you away is if you turned traitor."

"Which won't happen," Illya stated sharply.

"Exactly," Solo agreed. "When it comes to the CIA and KGB, the only assurance I can offer is that they'll have to take on the whole of U.N.C.L.E. if and when they try anything."

"And the day the bomb maker is better than me?"

"Then I will give you the best damn funeral anyone could wish for."

Illya grinned broadly. "I shall hold you to that."

Dr Francis couldn't help but laugh. These men lived with death constantly, so gallows humour was only to be expected.

"I suggest you take on a minor mission or two," he told his original patient. "If they go well, then make your decision."

"My decision is made," Illya responded. "I'm not ready to leave the field."

"Great," Napoleon enthused. "I haven't got the patience to break in a new partner. I concur with the good doctor though, you should ease yourself back with a couple of milk runs."

Illya nodded, surprised to find that all his anxiousness had lessened. No doubt he would find himself in the clutches of another maniacal sadist in the not too distant future, but he would deal with that when it happened. For now, he felt happy to know that a lot of people would continue their lives, unaware that there were people paying a high price for their security.

The end.


End file.
